


Lose Yourself

by MrsRen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Using sex to cope, it's smut, there is no high literature here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: It's been a year since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione finds herself at ball being held at Malfoy Manor, but there is nothing that can make her forget what happened there last spring. It turns out that she isn't the only one who is unable to cope,  but Draco Malfoy proves to have the solution. [ONESHOT.]





	Lose Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Renea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renea/gifts).



> Author’s Note: I don’t typically write notes before I write the story, but for some reason I am. I’ve been wanting to write this for months for an extremely good friend of mine. To be honest, I kind of owe her a lot since she got me into dramione and I wouldn’t have the stories I do now without her. She has a bit going on, so I wanted to make her smile.  
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for being a supportive friend even when I didn’t feel like I was worth anything. And for commenting on every dramione chapter I ever wrote because if we’re honest you, and my other friend kept me motivated until people noticed me. And for that, I’m grateful.
> 
>  
> 
> I asked her what she would like to see and that was post war smut. There was a prompt in DFW today for library sex, and it just clicked. So thank you to DFW for giving me the idea that held it all together.

 

There was no amount of decorations that could make Hermione Granger forget what Malfoy Manor had been during the war. Not that she held Narcissa Malfoy to any sort of accountability - perhaps that was a lie. Yet she stood in a ballroom full of people dressed to the nines, and her fingers trembled as she held her champagne flute. 

 

Her hair was loose, fanning across her bare shoulders as she made her way through the throng of people. Dressed in a dark maroon dress that met the tile with a corset back that enhanced her features, Hermione wanted nothing more than to find the nearest floo and escape back to her flat in Muggle London. 

 

Though she would have felt just as alone there as she did in this crowded room. Men and women alike stopped her with a polite tap on her shoulder, raising their glasses to her, to the  _ Brightest Witch of Her Age,  _ to  _ One Third of the Golden Trio,  _ to her bravery, to her wisdom - and she just wanted wanted to silence them. 

 

The war was over, the screams and the terror seeming to seep into her bones while every other citizen in Wizarding Britain wanted to brag of how they had met her, or Harry, or Ron. She swallowed, excusing herself from another toast with a polite smile. “Excuse me,” she murmured, leaning against the bar. “Firewhiskey, if you would.” 

 

The landlord nodded to her, his eyes lighting up in recognition. And then his eyes dropped to her left forearm, and Hermione didn’t feel anything at all. 

 

Every other young woman in attendance of this ball had worn elegant gloves that met her elbows, and when she’d bought the dress she wore, she’d told them to keep their gloves. It would have been generous of her to hide the ugly part of the war, the scar that reminded everyone of just who she was. 

 

_ A Mudblood.  _

 

She gripped the glass of booze in her hand tightly, leaning against the bar with her features set in a grimace. Watching everyone mingling was the best way to distract herself as she drank the glass in one long drink. Hermione pushed it back towards the landlord without looking over her shoulder. She kept her hand in place until another glass was slid into her grasp. 

 

In one corner of the room, Ron laughed with members of the Wizengamot. He was surely reiterating the tale of how they had broken into Gringotts, and escaped on the back of a dragon. She loved Ron as if he were her own family, she did, but she was sick of how every outing with him turned into tales of glory when all they were for her was a constant nightmare. 

 

In the year since the final battle, she couldn’t have been more proud of her two closest friends. Though she would have never wanted to dedicate the rest of her life to catching Dark Wizards, it was what they did best. The pair of them made a good team of Aurors, and Hermione had little doubt that within ten years Harry Potter would be Head Auror. 

 

It was of little surprise that Hermione returned to Hogwarts for her final year, desperate for closure. It was foolish to believe that she would have had that, as she wretched during the sorting ceremony. The screams that she would have done anything to hear whispers instead flourished inside of her head, and with every shout of  _ Gryffindor! Hufflepuff! Slytherin! Ravenclaw!  _ Hermione had wanted to run from the castle that should have been her home. 

 

The title of Head Girl had been offered to her, and it was bitter to admit she didn’t want to shoulder that responsibility anymore. Who exactly was she if she weren’t the one in charge? Just Hermione, just another victim, and after no less than a dozen trips to St. Mungos at McGonagall’s side, she knew exactly who she would become. 

 

The memory of S.P.E.W, and all that it had meant to her was still close in her heart. She still wanted to fight for the rights of those who couldn’t fight on their own. Alas, the Wizarding World didn’t understand anxiety, or the nearly constant fears rattling around in her head. There was nothing they could give her beyond sleeping draughts, and they looked at her as if she suffered from insanity when she pointed out, viciously, that sleeping draughts couldn’t help her when she was  _ awake.  _

 

Working to become a Healer, a path she’d had not once considered since Albus Dumbledore knocked on her front door, was not without its faults. More than once she had been told that Muggle ideas had no place in this world, and if that was how she felt - there had been nothing following that beyond a stun shooting from her wand. 

 

Hermione admitted that she had clawed herself out of whatever hole she had been left in, though she didn’t blame anyone else. Harry, Ron, everyone she knew really, they were fighting their own battles. This one was hers. 

 

She smiled into her glass as she watched Harry spin Ginny around across the dance floor, watching as his glasses slipped. It would be nice to be smiled at like that, as if she were the most important person to someone else. 

 

Downing the rest of her drink, and relishing in the trail it burned down her throat, she’d drank just enough to have an awful idea, and just barely enough to step away from the counter and leave the ball altogether. 

 

* * *

  
  


There wasn’t a part of this he enjoyed, and that was why he’d followed Granger. When she had descended from the stairs, she’d ensnared the attention of everyone in the room, including his own. It would seem that you couldn’t spend a year on the run without staying physically fit, but the curves that her satin dress clung to.. Draco hadn’t known she had a figure at all outside of her Hogwarts robes. 

 

Her hair was wild, curls spiraling down her back as she entered the room with a sad expression on her face. She’d moved around for a bit, playing nice with anyone who stopped her. Until she had made her way to the open bar, drinking what should have been too much Firewhiskey for her, and she’d left the room completely. 

 

He was only curious, Draco told himself. The Manor was a large estate, and easy to lose oneself in. Not to mention that there was at least one room with all the portraits of his ancestors that would surely berate her if she wandered in there. It wasn’t the formally bushy haired Gryffindor he was worried about; it was the irreplaceable portraits that she might blast off the wall that concerned him. 

 

And then he saw exactly where she was going. His heart jumped into his throat as he hurried his pace as she pushed the door open. Granger stood silently, still clutching the empty glass in her hand that she lifted for another drink only to have none. She stared down at the exact place of the floor where she had laid over a year ago, where he had watched her helplessly writhe on the floor. 

 

“Sometimes I think she’s still alive,” Hermione told him without turning around. “When I’m walking alone in the dark and the wind shifts like it did the night Harry broke that taboo.” 

 

“She’s definitely dead, Granger. Bellatrix can’t come back, and she’ll never touch you again.” His voice sounded off, and he realized that was just the sound of compassion. Something he didn’t spend his time dwelling on. 

 

“You know, everyone said the exact same thing about fucking Voldemort, but he still terrorized us for seven years. Rationally, yes, I understand Bellatrix can’t reanimate to torture me anymore, but the truth of it is that she doesn’t have to be here to torture me.” She spoke softly, her hand falling to her side. 

 

Draco swallowed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suits’ trousers. “I understand.” 

 

She nodded, turning to look at him. “Then you know how it’s impossible to forget how it feels to be helpless.” 

 

“I knew what helpless felt like the night I watched her  _ crucio  _ you; I thought you were going to lose you mind.” Draco stepped forward, wincing when the glass tumbled from her fingers and shattered against the floor. The glass cracked further under his dragonhide shoes. “I’ve avoided this room ever since.” 

 

She choked on a soft sob. “There was nothing you could have done, nothing any of us could have done beyond not being caught. The desired end was for our side to win, not for me to live. Harry had to live, and if I had died on this floor, or if I had lost my mind..it would have pushed him to win. That’s what mattered.” 

 

“Writing yourself off as a footnote of history is wrong.” He told her, looking down at the spotless floor once more. “And that’s no way to think of the War. Potter would have died without you. Weasley wouldn’t have made it. Fuck, a lot of people wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for you.” 

 

She laughed, a small, pathetic sound. “You don’t have to be pleasant because I’m sad, Malfoy. I know that I did my part.”  

 

“No,” he stepped towards her, tilting her head up by her chin. “That’s not why I’m being nice to you, Granger.” 

 

Her chocolate brown eyes widened at his touch, and she stared at him, her lips parting. “Then why?” 

 

“I think I’m more like you in terms of coping then I care to admit. Well, except for one bit.” He chuckled to himself. “If you don’t want to go back to the party, there’s a spot in the Manor where you can be alone.” 

 

Slowly, she nodded, letting him take her from the room. With the shattered glass over the spot of her nightmares, it somehow seemed fitting. 

 

The corridor was drafty as he pulled her further and further from the party. She looked over all of the portraits, the statues that adorned the walls of his home, and she couldn’t help the wave of disappointment when he stopped in front of two large, ornate doors. “This is our library,” he told her quietly, pushing both doors open and stepping aside for her to pass him. “Mother’s parties last all night, so I’ll leave you to it.” 

 

Hermione turned as he moved to shut the door, closing her in the silence. “Wait, Malfoy!” She moved, her heels clicking against the wooden floors as she grabbed him by his bicep. “Stay, would you? Unless you have something you’d rather be doing.” 

 

He shut the doors, standing in front of her with a small smirk on his face. “Go find a book, Granger. I’ll be in that chair over there if you need anything.” 

 

She nodded, her mouth completely dry as he walked towards a leather recliner by a fireplace that roared to life as he pulled his wand from his suit. Pleased that he wasn’t leaving her, Hermione moved along the shelves of the library. She grabbed the first book she found, which was what appeared to be an in depth study of Purebloods. 

 

Kicking her shoes off, Hermione sank into the chair opposite him. He’d taken his suit jacket off, slinging it over the back of the chair. “In the drawing room, you told me you thought we coped the same except for one way. What was that other way?” Hermione shivered when his eyes landed on her, darker than they had been. 

 

“It’s nothing you would be interested in, Granger. Read your book.” 

 

Hermione shook her head. “Malfoy, we’re adults here. You can tell me something even if I don’t agree with it, you know.” 

 

He leaned back in the chair. “What do I do to get my mind off of the horror I experienced since Lord Voldemort lived in my house? I have sex, Granger. And not just hooking up with someone random for tender lovemaking. No, I fuck, and I get all of the rage out of my system.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. 

 

Hermione nodded without blinking. “And that works for you?” She asked. 

 

“I’m usually too exhausted afterwards to feel sorry for myself,” he concluded. “You seem like you have a lot of anger to let out. Perhaps you should try it.” 

 

She tilted her head to the side, setting her book on the glass table beside her. “Are you offering to help me then?” 

 

He coughed, grey eyes wide. “Shouldn’t you go find Weasley?” 

 

“Why would I go find Ron?” She laughed, and at his thoroughly confused expression, it must have dawned on her. “Ron and I haven’t been together in nearly a year. It ended before it even started. I assumed you knew that.” 

 

He shook his head slowly. “As I’m sure you’re aware I haven’t been in Great Britain since the war ended, and since Father received the Kiss. I wasn’t keeping up with the gossip. What happened between the two of you?” 

 

Hermione laughed. “We just weren’t compatible in any way. Now that you’re aware of that, were you offering?” 

 

“Are you interested?” He challenged. 

 

Hermione stood from her chair, taking three steps and coming to stand in front of him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she straddled his waist in the chair, looping her arms around his neck. “It’s impolite to answer a question with another question. Though I think this will suffice as an answer.” 

 

His fingers knotted in her hair and he yanked her into the curve of him, kissing her roughly. She gasped when nails scraped against her scalp, and she clung to him, grinding herself against him. 

 

He growled when she bit his bottom lip, and he attempted to pull her dress up to her hips. The fabric that hugged her curves was too tight, so he ripped it apart, satisfied that he was able to press his fingers against her cunt through her knickers. “ _ Merlin,  _ where the fuck are your knickers?” He groaned, his fingers sliding against her clit carefully. 

 

“I didn't want lines in my dress.” She laughed. “I certainly wasn’t planning for anyone to find out I wasn’t wearing any.” Granger moaned as he ducked down, his lips moving against his neck, and his teeth sinking into the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder. 

 

“I’m not upset,” Draco gripped her by the waist, standing with her and setting her atop the desk in the library. “Quite the opposite.” As impatient as he was to see her, he gripped the top of her bodice, kissing her roughly as he tore the rest of her dress in half.

 

“I really liked that dress, you animal.” She murmured, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him to her. 

 

“It looks better on the floor.” He grumbled, undoing the clasp of her bra with one hand and throwing it to the floor. “Gods,” he groaned, kneeling on the ground before her and dragging his lips over the swell of her breasts before flicking her nipple with the tip of his tongue. 

 

She whimpered putting her hands behind her to hold herself up. He was rough, sucking her stiffened nipples before letting his teeth graze them. “Draco,” she keened. 

 

“Fuck, that sounds so good on your lips.” His fingers reached between them, moving along the folds of her wet cunt. “You’re so wet for me.” Draco moved to whisper in her ear, two fingers sliding inside of her roughly. 

 

“For you,” she gasped, and he pushed her to lie on her back against the papers scattered over the table. “Draco, oh my God.” Hermione whined as he lifted her leg to rest on his shoulder. “Please,”

 

“Please what?” Draco smirked, and his breath was hot against her dripping pussy. “You’ll have to speak up, sweetheart.” 

 

“Fuck you,” she snarled. “Eat me out,” Hermione’s voice broke off when his tongue met her slit, teasing her relentlessly as her fingers slid into her own hair, tugging roughly. 

 

Two fingers curled inside of her as he thrusted them inside of her, taking her clit between his teeth and sucking until she screamed his name. She was shuddering above him, her body wracked with pleasure. Papers were knocked off the sides as she desperately reached for something to hold onto; a bottle of ink crashed against the floor, and it would seep into the carpet. He couldn’t get less of a fuck. 

 

Standing up once more, he fingered her harder, just like she begged him to in broken, little moans that he wanted to keep all to himself. Rubbing the pad of his thumb against clit, he watched her head fall back. 

 

“Draco, I’m going to,” 

 

He grabbed her hair, pulling roughly and kissed her, his tongue sliding against hers. He took the broken scream that he ripped from her for himself. Draco’s fingers rubbed slow circles on her clit as she came down, breathless and clinging to him. “You’re so fucking hot.” 

 

Hermione unbuttoned his shirt in a frenzy, while he discarded his tie. “I want you so badly.” She gasped, staring up at him from where she sat at the corner of what had been his father’s desk. “Want you inside of me,” she whimpered. 

 

“Bend over the desk for me, Hermione.” He told her, unbuttoning his trousers. “I’m going to fuck you over this desk until you swear you can’t take anymore.” 

 

“I can fucking take whatever you can give me.” She muttered, only to find herself with her back to his naked chest, and his arms locked across her chest. “I want to be so sore tomorrow that this is all I can think about. I don’t want to think of anything else.” 

 

He bit her earlobe, moving down her neck and leaving marks so she  _ couldn’t  _ forget. With his fingers on her hips so roughly there were would be bruises in the shapes of his fingers, he pushed her to bend over the desk. He took his cock in his hand, and pressed the tip at the entrance of her cunt. “Do you want me to fuck you, love? I’ll fuck you so hard it ruins this with anyone else.” 

 

She turned to glare at him. “How do I know you’re not all talk?” Hermione shrieked when he plunged into her in one thrust, leaving her feeling impossibly full. She whimpered, knocking a container of quills from the edge where her hand landed. “Oh, my Gods,” she rocked her hips against him, sighing when he pulled out of her. “Yes, fuck me,” she pleased. “Fuck me as hard as you can.” 

 

It was a frenzy, the sounds of her moaning, and begging for him to fuck her, fuck her, fuck her. Repeating her words, and knocking every last object from the desk while he slammed into her, yanking her hair, and whispering into her ear just how pretty her cunt looked when it was wrapped around his thick cock. 

 

She managed to mutter, “Potion.” weakly when she’d nearly forgotten all about it. 

 

Hermione wasn’t completely sure just when he’d picked her up and carried her across the room. But the feeling of book spines digging into her back when he fucked her up against the shelves was clear through the pleasant haze she felt. With her legs over his shoulders, it felt as if he slid even deeper inside of her. 

 

And she didn’t think she could have come once more, but it proved to be false as his fingers found her clit, and pushed her over the edge again. This scream echoed through the library, and probably throughout the manor. If someone from the party did hear her, they might not know who it was, but they would know there was a woman getting fucked mercilessly. 

 

Draco came with an animalistic snarl, slamming his forearm against the shelf above her head. Sweat dripped from his brow, from his chest as he looked down at her, his lips curved in a playful smirk. “Granger,” 

 

“I’m going to be feeling you for weeks.” Hermione laughed. “I think you were right.” 

 

He raised an eyebrow. “Get all that anger out of your system?” 

 

“On, absolutely not.” She giggled. “In fact we barely scratched the surface, but if there’s no one else you need to help cope..” 

 

“Thank fucking Merlin,” Draco let her down, tipping her head up and kissing her once more. “I think you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.” 

 

She smiled. “Maybe it’s because we actually hated each other?” She asked him. 

 

It might not make it into her healer research, but she’d certainly found a healthy outlet for letting her anger out. 

 


End file.
